Zombie Fanfic

So, having read Rise Again, I am now hungering for a possible sequel like a zombie hungers for a fresh human brain. I think Rise Again Again would be a good title, to be followed by Rise Again Yet Again (which will undoubtedly inspire the cheap Turkish knockoff Rise Again Yataghan. Until a sequel arrives, I guess I'll have to write some zombie fanfic (uh, there's a potential minor spoiler, but it's one that the reviews I linked to in my last post revealed- that being said, READ THE BOOK ALREADY!!!):


She eased her foot off the ludicrously small Ludens cough drop shaped accelerator of the four door, foor speed, four cylinder Chevette that she'd salvaged on the highway outside of Baraboo. Hitting the clutch and shifting into neutral, she coasted down the road into the outskirts of Milwaukee, while turning the lights off, then cutting the engine. Silent as a questing owl, she entered the city. Like most cities hit by the contagion, Milwaukee was dark, and the shells of burnt-out houses stood here and there like the unfilled, carious molars of a wino. Funny, after the plague, there were no winos on the streets... they provided a dainty, well-marinated feast for the initial zombie swarms. One intact house stood, an incongruous light burning in an upper floor.

She reached for her trusty twelve-gauge and slipped out of the car. As she approached the house, she could faintly hear music blaring from within, an uptempo number with jagged-edged guitar riffs, and undecipherable lyrics shouted with gusto. The music sounded vaguely familiar, though she couldn't put a name to it. It reminded her of her childhood, when an older, mohawked kid played that sort of music, and scared the more staid members of the community before succumbing to the siren song of L.A. She briefly wondered what happened to him, what he'd been doing before the plague hit. "Probably living in a shoebox in L.A., living off Social Security, and posting righteously irate social critiques on the 'net," she thought. Well, whatever had happened to him, here was a whole new situation.

She entered the house undetected, the music covering the sounds of the door being forced. Her heart racing, she climbed the stairs. Facing the light-haloed door, she hitched her shoulders and thought, "No time for stealth, time for action." She kicked the door down and brought the stock of the shotgun to her shoulder. Incredulously, she saw a zombie bent over a drafting table, working on some building schematics. She knew that the zombies' cognitive faculties had improved dramatically, but this was a shock. She blurted out loud, "I knew they were getting more intelligent, but never thought I'd find one drawing architectural plans."

The zombie turned his baleful gaze on her, then opened its mouth to wheeze, "Shit, lady, what makes you think I'm one of the smart ones?"


My working title is I Rocked With a Zombie.